ArchivedLogs:Twice in One Day

Twice in One Day
Dramatis Personae Iolaus, Sebastian	2012-12-08 A small case of mistaken identity.
Location <NYC> Evolve Cafe - Lower East Side
Tucked down an alley, this out of the way coffeeshop is easy to miss if you don't know what you're looking for. Unassuming from the outside, its inside makes up for it -- spacious, with abundant seating and plenty of plush couches and cosy armchairs along the room's edges. The coffee is good, the prices are cheap, and there is a definitive alternative vibe to the room, from the music they play to the art that hangs on the walls. The real draw to this place, though, stems from its client base -- one of the very few businesses in the city that is welcoming to mutants, Evolve has become widely popular as a hangout with that crowd, and it is quite common to see them among clientele and employees both. At night, the thump of music can be heard from above, coming from the adjoining nightclub of the same name that sits over the coffeehouse. The evening has worn along into the night time, but Evolve is still very much open for business. In fact, the sounds of music from upstairs can be heard even downstairs in the couch-laden, armchair-strewn coffeeshop. There aren't too many people downstairs at this point - most of them have filtered upstairs to the nightclub above - but there are a few. A bored looking employee behind the counter, on their phone. A pair of punky looking teenagers, one on top of the other, sharing an armchair and making out. A professional looking man in a red dress shirt and a tight pair of black jeans, with a leather studded belt, typing away at his computer. Earphones are in his ears, and if one gets close enough - or, at Evolve, has good enough hearing - they might be able to hear similar strains of music playing through his headphones as is playing upstairs. The teenager who slips in from outside looks a good deal too young, as yet, to be frequenting the upstairs here. The oversized hoodie pulled up over his head and hanging down low over his hands makes his small frame look smaller, still, and the slightly-hunched way he walks does not help counter this impresion. He straightens taller -- not much taller, admittedly, but more straight-backed confidence in his walk -- once the door closes behind him. His baggy sweatshirt comes off, too, once he is on his way up to the counter, tugged off to reveal not only his blue features and webbed fingers but attire chosen with much more eye to style than the baggy sweatshirt would imply. Dark jeans slightly shimmery with pinstripes, a tight sleeveless black top dotted with a few silver stars, clunky back boots with a wealth of silver buckles riding the leather all the way up to his knees. He takes his time about ordering -- chocolate mate, and a roast beef sandwich -- and then folds his sweatshirt prim and neat to drape it over an arm while he waits, standing by the counter and surveying the room thoughtfully. Iolaus looks up and does a double-take at the boy standing by the counter. Chuckling and shaking his head, he hits a few quick keystrokes on the keyboard and pulls the headphones out one ear and then the other. He sets his laptop down on the chair and saunters up to the counter. "Twice in one day?" he drawls, smirking at the younger man. "As I said, perhaps you and I aren't so different after all, despite what you claimed." The boy jumps, a little startled when he is addressed. He smiles easily enough, though, at first, small and warm but skewing towards the puzzled as Iolaus speaks. His brows furrow, and he shifts his weight back, one foot drifting behind him slowly. "As you -- said?" The puzzled note in his furrowed brow is reflected in his quizzical tone. "I'm sorry, sir, I don't really follow?" The confusion furrows Iolaus' brow, and he tilts his head to one side, studying the face of the other man. "When we talked. A couple hours ago, at Spin?" he explains, though the confusion has entered his voice as well. "We spoke about..." he trails off. "You don't remember?" He blinks, running a hand through his hair. "I mean, I've been told that I've a forgettable face, but this is a bit ridiculous." he says, voice playful, though still puzzled. Another backstepped shift of weight. The boy shakes his head, slow, tightening his grip on his sweatshirt. "Spin? Where's that? Is that the music store?" The easy confidence of his posture is shifting into a slightly discomfited tensing across his narrow shoulders. "I haven't been there in weeks. Are you sure we didn't see each other here?" Though /he/ does not sound sure, eying Iolaus, frowning. "I mean, I'm here a lot on weekends?" "The music store. Today." Iolaus says, puzzlement verging slowly into amusement. "Up in Harlem. You fixed the stud on my belt? We had a discussion about mutant and human relations while you browsed through the classical music? No?" he says, chuckling once. "One of us is clearly losing our minds, and I am beginning to fear it might be me." Sebastian's posture relaxes again while Iolaus's talks, puzzled frown slipping into a small smile. He looks over Iolaus again more closely, and looks down at the sweatshirt draped over his forearms. "Was I nice to you?" he wants to know, as his order is slid over the counter towards him. "Thank you, miss," he murmurs to the barista, shifting his sweatshirt so he can carefully take the drink in one hand and the sandwich plate in the other. Raising one eyebrow, Iolaus' lips purse into a smirk. "Nice... mm, I would call it friendly abrasiveness." A pause. "Perhaps I am being a little polite, even with that." He crosses his arms across his chest, glancing at the barista. "May I have another of the nilgiri I had before, please?" His attention flicks back towards the teenager. "You no longer look confused. Shape-shifter, mischievous friend of yours?" "Shape-shifter?" This startles a laugh from the teenager, black eyes widening and his head shaking. "I don't think anyone who could shapeshift is going to walk around the city looking like this." He holds his food and drink carefully, eventually shifting to rest the sandwich plate on top of the mug for easier balancing. Iolaus gestures to the armchair next to his laptop. "Please, feel free. I'll be there in a moment, as soon as I have my-- ah." he turns to accept the mug and saucer from the barista, bag already inside the tea. "Thank you." he says, then steps over back towards where he had been sitting. "Enlighten me, then. Dissociative personalities?" he guesses, again. "I'm sorry, sir?" Sebastian looks puzzled once more at this guess. He balances his plates carefully as he walks across the room, taking an armchair next to the one Iolaus had been in. He curls up into it snugly, folding his legs up beneath himself and resting the mug down gently on the table, careful not to disturb Iolaus's computer. The sandwich he does not bite into, but flips off the top piece of bread, skewering a slice of beef with a fork and eating it plain. "I'm pretty much just me," he tells Iolaus with a slight smile. "You're hearing hoofbeats and thinking zebras." "A twin, then?" Iolaus says, perking up and looking interested. "But I've not heard many - any - cases of twin mutants expressing the exact same mutation. Do you share all of the same abilities?" he says, voice beginning to pick up pace as his excitement grows. "Not that I've seen many cases of identical twin mutants at all, mind you. One, ever. But in that case, they had opposite mutations, and from what /they/ had heard, that was a common pattern." "Opposite?" Sebastian's eyebrows raise, curiously. "What makes a mutation opposite, sir? Um. Similar mutations run in families a /lot/, it doesn't seem such a stretch twins would share them. I've known a few who do." He takes another bite of beef, tongue running across his sharp teeth afterwards. "We don't share everything, though," he says with a shift of posture and a faint, uncomfortable frown. "I mean, we look the same. Because he's my twin. But I can do some things he can't and same with him." "Fascinating." Iolaus says, sitting down in his chair and moving his laptop back to his lap. He folds the screen partially closed, however, and places the tea down on the table beside him. "The people that I knew were opposites. One of them..." he trails off, suddenly, frowning. "Well. The community in New York is too small for me to tell you what their abilities actually were. But... one of them, uh... essentially undid what the other did." His lips purse, and he shakes his head once. "For example, one could make something hot, and the other could make something cold." "It's the same mutation, though," Sebastian says, thoughtfully, his claws clicking against his plate. "At least your example is. They're both temperature control. A lot of things that might be opposites are a lot closer than they seem at first." He spears another thin shaving of meat, licking off horseradish from its side. There's a faint wince in his expression as he eats it. "What do you do, sir?" "Oh, very much so." Iolaus says, a smile hanging on his lips. "But something can be the same and yet opposite." He chuckles and stretches out his hands in front of him, flexing them before letting them fall back down onto his lap. "I'm a doctor over at Mount Sinai. A clinical geneticist." he says. "For now, anyway. We will see what time brings. And you - I assume you are a student?" "No," Sebastian's cheeks darken slightly and he seems to pull back a little more into his armchair. He sits a little less comfortably, watching Iolaus with an uncertainty not present before. He drags his fork against his plate, swirling it through a small puddle of dripped mustard. "No, I mean what do you --" He waves a hand towards Iolaus, his webbed fingers waggling. "Do." "Oh." Iolaus pauses for a moment, and his smile stretches out on his face. "Nothing. I'm homo sapiens sapiens." he explains, with a slight shrug of his shoulders. He leans over and fishes the tea bag out of the tea, letting the liquids drip down into the mug before he places it on the saucer where it makes a soft, wet, squelching sound. He turns his eyes onto Sebastian as he picks the mug up and takes a sip of the tea. "Mm. Delicious." "-- Oh." This is clearly not the answer Sebastian was expecting. His shoulders curl in slightly, his frown deepening. He studies his roast beef. "So are you just --" He hesitates, starting to lean forward to reach for his mate but then dropping back into the armchair. "Just really /interested/ in mutants, sir?" His tone is still polite, though in place of its former warmth it is carefully even. "I've had a few mutant patients in my work." Iolaus says, sipping his tea and studying the other man carefully. "And I would be lying if I didn't say that I was interested in mutants, in the X-gene. I'd be a poor sort of geneticist if I didn't find it fascinating, and a poor sort of doctor as well." He pauses for a second, placing the mug down on the table next to him. "But, also, I know what it's like to be cast out of a community for being different. I remember that feeling. Why should I be a part of inflicting it on others?" Not much of a man quite yet, Sebastian seems younger still with his tense-hunched posture and quick uncertain glances to Iolaus. "No, it's probably not good to. Inflict. What does a clinical geneticist do?" "Traditionally, a clinical geneticist is a physician that works with people who have genetic based illnesses, or with parents who are carriers of genetic diseases that are trying to make sure their children don't get it passed on." Iolaus explains, his voice quickly flipping to the calm, patient voice of a professor. "We also get brought in to consult on more complex cases by other doctors who believe that there might be a genetic link, or have a complex set of family history that they need to piece out." He glances down at his computer for a second. "I also am involved in the epidemiological department, but that's not usual for a clinical geneticist." "What about a family history of mutation?" Sebastian's lips twitch up, but there's not much amused in his smile. It does little to dispel the discomfiture from his posture. His head turns, sweeping the room with his gaze in a slow study of the others in the coffeeshop. "Do you come here a lot?" Iolaus' smile widens. "I have been called in several times for that. I think some of the doctors just kind of toss their hands up in the air and say, 'Well, since it's the x-gene, it's your problem now.'" He winks at Sebastian and glances around the room. "Sometimes. More often when I find myself downtown for whatever reason. I don't usually come south of the 70s for work, but occasionally I end up down here anyway. I'd say once every other week or so, I end up here." he looks around affectionately at the cafe around him. Sebastian doesn't return the wink, instead shrinking further back into his chair. He offers Iolaus a quick and pretty wobbly smile. Leaning forward, he sets his plate, sandwich will mostly intact, despite a layer of meat missing from its pile of roast beef, down on the table next to his untouched drink. "Yeah, it's a nice place, sir," comes quiet and polite. The boy slides his feet back to the ground, unfolding his sweatshirt to shake it out. "I should probably -- um, it's late and my --" He hesitates, words pausing as he pulls the oversized hoodie over his head. "-- dad'll probably be worrying." "Relax," Iolaus says, raising a hand to the other man. "You don't have to talk to me. Don't let me put you out," he says, a brief flash of a smile with just a trace of sadness in his eyes. "I've got to finish this analysis anyway, or I will have a very unhappy patient tomorrow when they go under sedation and I don't have the answer yet." he picks up his headphones and opens his laptop, looking back down to the screen. Sebastian plucks at the ends of his long sleeves, a little fidgety as he pulls them down over his webbed fingers. "No, it's just --" he starts. Almost starts. Doesn't finish, getting to his feet instead after a long slow look at Iolaus. "Good luck with your analysis, sir," he says quietly, pulling his hood up over his head. Iolaus looks up at the blue teenager and nods, once. "Have a good night. Tell your brother that he's still wrong, and I am happy to continue the debate any time. With him, next time." Another smile, and then the doctor puts headphones in his ears and focuses back on the work on his computer. "He's never wrong," Sebastian answers this, his smile more genuine now. If a bit fondly /exasperated/. He doesn't linger much longer, leaving his food and drink abandoned and hurrying out of the shop, head ducked low and hands tucked away into his sweatshirt's large pocket.